


Verdaffodils

by DarkIsRising



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Prompt Fill, Shameless Smut, Smut, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29482062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkIsRising/pseuds/DarkIsRising
Summary: Prompt: “You love it like this, don’t you?”
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 19
Kudos: 86
Collections: QuiObi Writing Discord Prompt Fills





	Verdaffodils

Obi-Wan is a bit of a talker during sex.

Or at least, he is with Qui-Gon, and right now—with his former master splayed on his back across a bedroll beneath him while a steady rain drums across their tent, air turning more and more humid with every panting breath they take—he’s found plenty to talk about.

“Your hands are so beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing feather-soft kisses across Qui-Gon’s knuckles before turning them over to trace the calluses on Qui-Gon’s palms with reverent lips.

“I want you inside me so badly,” he gasps, when Qui-Gon thrusts up between their bodies, his cock hard and straining as it leaves a trail of precum across the expanse of Obi-Wan’s belly.

“You love it like this, don’t you?” Obi-Wan whispers without thinking and immediately he stills when he realizes the mistake he’s made. 

Looking down at Qui-Gon in panic, Obi-Wan tries to convince himself that Qui-Gon couldn’t have heard him over the rain that is now thrumming louder against the canvas tent. It was a foolish slip up, made only because he’s finally in position—the tip of Qui-Gon’s erection is wet and poised and waiting at his opening—and Obi-Wan is never in his right mind when he’s lining himself up to sink onto the long, thick pressure of Qui-Gon’s cock.

In a last ditch attempt to forestall the inevitable Obi-Wan spears himself down, hoping that the tightness of his body and the loudness of his pleasure-cry will be distraction enough for what he’s spent the last eight days laboriously avoiding. It isn’t. He knows it isn’t, because even as Qui-Gon takes Obi-Wan’s hips in his broad hands, holding him steady while Qui-Gon fucks up into him with a rhythm that Obi-Wan can feel all the way down to his curling toes, Qui-Gon’s forehead is creasing.

Obi-Wan watches with despair as Qui-Gon carefully considers the question that he hadn’t ever meant to pose.

“Do I love it like this?” he muses as Obi-Wan calls out his name with ragged sobs of want. “Well,” he begins and Obi-Wan closes his eyes, bracing himself for the onslaught.

It’s the fault of those damned flowers. They’d been stumbling through the marshes of Drax IV, searching for drier ground as their latest mission took them through the muddiest, most insect-infested muck that Obi-Wan had seen in a while. Qui-Gon had lost his balance, slipping into a thicket of bright yellow verdaffodils that the locals had warned them about. By the time he’d gotten out there had been tracks of blue pollen all along Qui-Gon’s robes and smeared in lines across the skin of his cheeks. 

“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan had asked reflexively and Qui-Gon had stared at him for a full minute with a far away look on his face before launching into a treatise on every stray thought about his personal well-being that had passed through his head since the mission had begun.

There once was a time, back when Obi-Wan was a padawan to a new, taciturn master, he’d wished with all his heart to have any kind of insight as to what went on behind that passive expression and those ice blue eyes. He’d marvelled at Qui-Gon’s serenity, longed for a demeanor as quiescent as his, but as the years went by he’d eventually learned that Qui-Gon was seldom as serene as he appeared to those he didn’t know very well. 

Qui-Gon got annoyed, he got frustrated by mundane matters just as much as any being, but it wasn't until those damned flowers that Obi-Wan learned how very petty most of his frustrations and annoyances truly were.

“My feet are cold,” Qui-Gon says at last.

Pollen is still apparently working its way through his bloodstream, altering his brain chemistry, as it turns every question into a kriffing discourse as to the unvarnished truths and inner worlds of one Qui-Gon Jinn. And nothing, not even sex, can interrupt him from answering a question in this state.

Qui-Gon rocks up into him with a force that stutters the breath from Obi-Wan’s lungs, and he’s grateful that Qui-Gon is so adept at multitasking.

“They’ve been cold since we landed on this planet.”

Obi-Wan tries to speak but all that comes out is a keening wail as Qui-Gon holds him still on the next downstroke. They are pressed together—hipbones to ass—and all Obi-Wan can do, all he’s given leverage to do, is shift mindlessly back and forth as the fullness inside of him drags against his prostate. His skin burns with mounting pleasure, sweat beads along the span of his lower back as the air becomes thick with the smell of their bodies and their sex.

“My boots have started taking in water.” A hand leaves Obi-Wan’s hip and suddenly there are fingertips pressed to his bottom lip. Opening his mouth, he lets Qui-Gon press in until Obi-Wan can curl his tongue around the invading fingers.

Outside the rain is speeding up, and he can feel the shift of sound shiver across his overstimulated senses.

He moans as he sucks on Qui-Gon’s fingers, working his mouth as ardently as he would suck Qui-Gon’s cock and he can feel the fullness inside of him expand with arousal. Qui-Gon’s eyes are blown out and pupil-black. His voice is gravel as he speaks. “I don’t think my socks have been dry for a moment since we started this mission.” 

Obi-Wan tries to shift onto his knees, he’s desperate to find some leverage so that he can plunge down on Qui-Gon again, but he’s knocked off balance by the hand still on his hip. He moans in frustration and is soothed as Qui-Gon rolls his pelvis in tight circles beneath him. Obi-Wan can feel the bright thrill of it bolt across his nerves, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“There are far too many insects here.”

Qui-Gon pulls his fingers free from Obi-Wan’s mouth, and he can see where they glimmer wet under the glow of their tent’s white-blue light source.

A wrapped arm around his torso is all the warning Obi-Wan gets before he is flipped over. Now Obi-Wan is on his back and he’s pinned down by Qui-Gon’s weight, a solid mass of honed muscles and impossibly long limbs. Dark hair slips over Qui-Gon’s shoulder to brush across Obi-Wan’s face, and they are now close enough that Obi-Wan can use the strength of his abdominals to rise up and catch Qui-Gon’s mouth in a kiss that is all seeking tongues and desperate need.

“They buzz around the tent at night and keep me awake,” Qui-Gon grouses when their mouths pull apart with a wet smack.

Obi-Wan lets his torso fall back down, exasperated. Beneath the thin padding of the bedroll he can hear the squelch where the muddy ground gives way. He wants to say something, to beg Qui-Gon to stop talking, but he realizes Qui-Gon’s wet fingers are moving purposely down between their bodies, down between Obi-Wan’s thighs, and his breath catches when he feels a finger gently pressing against the straining skin of his puckering rim.

“And don’t even get me started on the humidity.” Hot breath skims Obi-Wan’s lips as Qui-Gon speaks and then there is a kiss pressing down on him, stealing his oxygen, forcing his cries down Qui-Gon’s throat while a finger works until the tip of it is resting beside Qui-Gon’s cock.

Full. So full and so tight, Obi-Wan blazes with the friction of that finger as it enters. Obi-Wan is balancing on the edge of an abyss as he tips from pleasure to pain and then back again. Qui-Gon’s beard rasps against his cheek, his lips at the shell of Obi-Wan’s ear, and he hears something about morning fog and low visibility, but he can’t concentrate on words anymore.

Qui-Gon pulls his cock out a little, just enough that the finger can ride the movement back inside as it goes in, past the first knuckle and soon it’s in past the second knuckle, too.

“More,” is all Obi-Wan can say and then there’s more and it’s too much—far too much and never enough—and he’s coming with a bright, cresting relief that splatters the space between then with come and makes his spine arch away from the cold, muddy ground.

Some time later, after Qui-Gon has taken his pleasure from Obi-Wan’s body— and he isn’t such a raw nerve that every twitch of Qui-Gon’s cock inside of him makes Obi-Wan suck in a quick, desperate breath of muggy air—Qui-Gon finally stops speaking.

“Just for the record,” Obi-Wan says, his ear aligned to the driving beat of Qui-Gon’s heart. “I meant ‘you love it like this,’ as in sex—between us—not sex here, on this planet.”

“Oh,” Qui-Gon says with a considering blink. His arms tighten around Obi-Wan as he answers: “Yes, that I love. Very much.”


End file.
